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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26349049">Coping</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleSweetCheeks/pseuds/LittleSweetCheeks'>LittleSweetCheeks</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Madam Secretary</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, But then kinda fixed him a little, Gen, I broke him a little, Self Harm, Triggers, mental health</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 04:28:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,013</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26349049</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleSweetCheeks/pseuds/LittleSweetCheeks</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during AU Iran. Elizabeth's gone a lot longer and Blake doesn't cope well.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This started as an innocent Elizabeth hugs Blake prompt, but it took an angsty turn.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The marks were light lines now, faded reminders of his teenage years, crisscrossing his flesh like tiny gridirons of former pain and self-hatred. They’d only been one in a whole arsenal of issues he’d had to overcome years ago, looking at them brought him shame.</p><p>He never intended for anyone to ever get to see them, to know what he’d done to himself, it was his silent burden to bear. He’d learned after coming home that people either would pity him for it or be angered by it, neither were responses he was ever willing to endure, so silence was the only option.</p><p>It was the only way to protect himself, protect the image he’d created of a man who had it all together. And it worked, for a short time. He found that he’d formed attachments again, against his better judgement, found a mother figure that he mentally clung to when he felt that resolve, felt that false bravado, begin to waver. He found himself confident enough for the first time in years to wet shave instead of using an electric razor, the temptation didn’t feel like it was drawing him in anymore. The blades didn’t plague his mind in the dark hours of night and perhaps that was because he’d developed new coping mechanisms to survive. He ran the city in the pre-dawn hours, became fastidious about everything he could possibly control, and always made sure there was no room in his schedule for any negative thoughts. Staying busy to stay alive.</p><p>He knew he shouldn’t rest the future balance of his mental health on something so fleeting, so transient as a relationship with another person, especially if they were entirely unaware, but he found he’d done it without much consideration. There were positives, attempting to force someone else to maintain normal and healthy eating habits meant he had to prioritize eating for himself and often had an unknowing witness to him eating enough meals a day. Accountability in a round about way, he decided. She always noticed if he tried to skip a meal but was entirely unaware as to why he needed to be watched. And preventing her from overdoing it on certain foods meant he was hyper aware of staying away from the foods that triggered his own binge and purge cycles. Managing her kept him safe. It wasn’t a healthy relationship, but he didn’t do anything to stop his growing dependence on it.</p><p>His dependence seemed harmless to him, an innocent way to remain a capable adult, until the rug got pulled out from under them all. In the end, it only took three days for his carefully patched together world to crash down around him.</p><p>When Nadine had pulled him aside and said those words, told him about the coup and that the Secretary was missing, all he felt was pain. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t make out the rest of what she said. All he knew was the person he’d mentally built his functional existence around, the person he’d hung the continued health of his mind on, was gone. Possibly dead. No one knew a thing. As she walked away, he realized his hands were shaking so he took refuge in the one place he knew the others would be reluctant to follow.</p><p>He hid in the corner office through the night, avoiding the rest of the staff, thankful that they were willing to let him hide. He spent hours on the sofa, willing his mind to calm for him so he could go be of some help, but it continued to race. When his body was too restless to sit any longer, he paced the room, touching the various wood surfaces as he wandered from end to end. It was how his was found by Nadine a day later, concern seeping off her as she anxiously watched him, unsure how to help. Eventually, she told him he needed to eat and forced him to accompany her to find food. Down in the canteen, he still felt unsettled, but his eyes landed on what was available and he couldn’t help the impulse, selecting items he hadn’t in years. It was harmless, he told himself, and understandable. He friend was likely dead, the one person in the world he was even remotely close to, a little release would help him get through it so they could at least recover her body and bring her home.</p><p>Taking his things back to the corner office, he folded himself into the desk chair and ate it all, shifting uncomfortably as his stomach began to protest being filled beyond capacity with foods he’d not subjected his body to in years. Sweat pricked at his hairline, he remembered this now, as the overwhelming sense of what was to come swept through his system, the other feelings, the fear, anger, and doubt, they were pushed out. They became one with the hard ball in his stomach.</p><p>In high school it’d been a game, to see how long he could balance on that edge before he knew what he had to do to end it. Standing, he peeled off his jacket and tie, leaving them on the desk before letting himself into the private bathroom in the corner, kneeling at the toilet as he undid the top buttons of his shirt to allow his throat to move more freely. Closing his eyes, he finally allowed himself to think about the ways she could’ve died, might’ve died. Once he thought he’d pictured them all, he put his fingers in his throat.</p><p>==</p><p>Six days they waited, hanging in the balance. Six days he paced all night, too anxious to settle and sleep, never leaving the building, rarely leaving her office. He found a rhythm to survive it, binge as much as he could as fast as he could, then purge it along with the feelings of inadequacy, the feelings of failure, and then he was able to fake it for a few hours to help out with the search for her. Or her body. Both avenues were being considered.</p><p>He didn’t eat otherwise, and no one seemed to notice or care. His mind began playing tricks on him, not enough sleep, not enough nourishment, too much fear and anxiety. It was late on day six that he stumbled on the holy grail of discoveries. Tucked under the bathroom sink, behind the spare boxes of tissues and rolls of toilet paper, was a small case, he assumed it was Henry’s for those few times he readied for a dinner on the seventh floor. An old school razor with removable blades.</p><p>He sank to the floor and simply stared at it. His skin seemed to hum at the mere sight of the blade, the memory of making those crisscrossed lines years ago, the way they made his body sing when he was hurting so bad. He knew it was a risk, he’d barely eaten in almost a week and anything more would knock him out for a long while and he was at work, but he hand seemed to work the thin blade loose of it’s own volition. He shimmied his trousers down so he could stare at the flesh past the hem of his boxers. It would calm his mind, he told himself, it would help. He understood how addiction worked but understanding and the ability to fight it alone were a far cry from one another. He pressed the blade to the faded pink marks, pulling it in a neat line an inch long. Then another. And another. He carried on until he ran out of room and then started the next line, eyelids growing heavy as the rush began to overwhelm him.</p><p>One leg marked and oozing brightly, he started on the other, but blessed oblivion overwhelmed him, the blade lay limp in his hand. He didn’t hear the main door open, or his name being called. He didn’t hear the bathroom door handle turn or panicked shouts as the person ran for help. He didn’t feel hands pressing his throat for a pulse or holding soft towels to his wounds to stop the bleeding. He didn’t recall being hoisted onto a stretcher or the rushed sounds of a pair of shoes trying to keep up, demanding that they would be riding to the hospital with him. He didn’t hear the voice tell security agents at the door to reroute the motorcade. He never heard the Elizabeth had been found safe and was home.</p><p>==</p><p>That he wasn’t staring at a wood paneled bathroom when his eyes opened terrified him. The room was white, sterile, and smelled like abject failure. He’d screwed up. He’d failed to hold it all in, hold his life together, and now he’d ruined everything again. Squeezing his eyes shut, he let a few tears flow free. When the few turned into a torrent, he tried to roll into a ball and hide his face in his hands, only to find he could do neither. With a gasp, he stared at his wrists and the padded bands around them.</p><p>They believed he was a danger to himself. He was trapped at the mercy of strangers. That realization made the agony of the many losses of recent days wrack his body and he missed the door clicking open and then shut again. He couldn’t stop when he felt the rail be put down on the side of his bed or when someone climbed up, moving into a position to wrap him in a hug tighter than he’d experienced in years.</p><p>His mind was playing tricks on him, telling him he was hearing her voice now, smelling the perfume unique to her on the clothes against his skin. He wanted to believe it so bad, so he let his mind sink into it, let his mind believe she was there hugging him. The tears carried on until he was totally spent, physically, mentally, emotionally. Only once he was done did the person pull away and he realized that somehow, it was her sitting beside him. The one person he never expected to see again.</p><p>She’d been crying too, he saw, though he wasn’t sure because of what. Because of him? Because of her nearly week in hell? He could see she had scrapes and bruises visible where clothing wasn’t covering her body. She’d been hurt, though he didn’t know how bad. Her hand raised and she was combing it through his hair, pushing it aside off his forehead before dropping her hand to cup his cheek. Her eyes always told him so much, had always been the most expressive part of her and now they told him that she knew everything. When he’d come to DC, he’d signed a form giving her access to his medical records in an emergency, her, and later Nadine. He’d figured that in an emergency, they’d been the two most likely to step up.</p><p>His heart sank as he put it all together, that meant they both knew the awful, shameful truth now. They both knew what a failure he was, what a fraud. Her hand lifted his face and he met her eyes again, expecting judgement and disgust. It was what he’d gotten as a teen. Instead all he found was compassion and understanding. He didn’t understand, how could she still care so much for him after what he’d done. He saw her chin tremble the slightest bit and then she was hugging him again, grounding him on her embrace and not making any move to let go, not even when the door whispered open and shut again. Over her shoulder, he watched Nadine approach his bed, a look of love and concern on her face. She didn’t try to move Elizabeth to hug him as well, though he could tell she wanted to, instead she took his hand, holding it tight and lifting it as high as she could before hugging it against her body.</p><p>Closing his eyes again, he wondered to himself why he was so broken and how he finally got lucky enough to find family who seemed to love him despite his brokenness.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The marks were red beacons now. Rows of tic marks checking off the descent his mind had made sitting on the floor of a bathroom. Bold sirens of the pain and despair he’d fought to hide for years, unearthed in a matter of days. Only one in a list of secrets that had been exposed.</p>
<p>He hated that he had to look at them every day, hated that others had seen them on his body. His secret laid bare. He’d learned in the harsh light of morning that the people he feared would pity him or be angry with him did not. Instead he was met with overwhelming affection and love unlike anything he’d experienced before. It left him speechless, hearing the words that he was their son, and nothing would change that, as three sets of arms wrapped him tight.</p>
<p>He’d thought he’d been protecting himself with his image that he was holding it together, but he learned that all he’d been doing was causing himself pain and loneliness by keeping everyone else at bay. His resolve was now fractured beyond repair, but it turned out, that was okay. Where he thought he’d destroyed any pretense of that one mother figure that he’d clung to, he found instead two that embraced the role without hesitation. With them, there was no need for bravado, no need for confidence.</p>
<p>He’d remembered the routine, a week inpatient beyond a locked door, every moment of his day and night monitored in a way even his usual life beside one of the most protected people in the country didn’t touch. Individual therapy, group therapy, crafts, his food intake watched, and his bathroom habits monitored. His face had grown scruffy from lack of shaving and his hair fell in out of control waves. Left in scrubs, a robe, and hospital issued slipper socks, he’d shuffled along the hall to the sunroom, holding the robe to his body, shoulders curled in. Used to wearing a suit as if it were armor, the thin cotton had made him feel naked and exposed.</p>
<p>He’d been subjected to the degrading process of his wounds being checked and cleaned to avoid infection. None needed stitches…this time. As scabs formed, they began to itch and the itch seemed to take over his body, causing him to scratch absently at his arms instead to avoid tearing his legs open again. One physical manifestation of his distress forming to avoid exacerbating another as it healed. He remembered that cycle too. His hands needed to be busy and craft time wasn’t enough to calm them, though working clay over and over in his palms helped for a time.</p>
<p>By day, the pain had been bad enough, but the embarrassment though was worse. He was the guy who was supposed to have it all together, but now the truth was out- he was a fraud. At night, the nightmares came. Some nights the nightmare was a casket, gleaming harshly under intense lights; other nights his mind offered a vision to the voice he vaguely remembered desperately trying to make sure he lived in that tiny bathroom. Each night it was different, but every night he woke in a cold sweat and his stomach churning.</p>
<p>After a week, he was to be released assuming someone would be making sure he showed up daily for outpatient care. He wasn’t allowed back to work yet, but he’d get to sleep in his own home, but he had no family and he hadn’t been sure if the promise in the wee hours after his rescue extended to this. When his nails had anxiously began scratching at his arms again, he’d fisted his hands to make it stop. He couldn’t afford to let things get out of control again. He’d make sure this time to never let it get that bad. He nervously told the doctor he had no family, but the doctor seemed to not hear him, only smiling softly. Later, he understood why.</p>
<p>Standing in the hall outside the locked doors later that day were the McCords and Nadine. It was the latter that approached him first and wrapped him in a hug, whispering that she’d always be there for him, no matter what. He heard the sincerity in her voice, felt the way she seemed reluctant to pull away, the way she kept touching his arm. Then Henry hugged him, a tight, grounding hug, before taking Blake’s face in both his hands, telling him again that he was their son and that would never change. The declaration brought tears to his eyes, but made the itching feeling stop, fear of his future seemed to fade away. For the first time, he believed he could get through this.</p>
<p>Outpatient care lasted three weeks and Blake discovered that a plan had been decided to be sure he attended, got home, and had dinner. Each morning, Henry arrived and drove him to the hospital. Every single morning. They all had keys to his place now just in case he never opened up when he should, or in case they couldn’t reach him, worry still outweighing wanting him to have a little privacy. Afternoons three days a week it was Henry who collected him, bringing him back to Georgetown for dinner before taking him home. The other two evenings, Nadine arrived for him. It was as if they were sharing custody of him.</p>
<p>The first weekend released he’d found himself at the McCord home listening to the kids argue over Catan and smoothie bowls. It was that weekend he accidentally learned about what Elizabeth had endured in Iran, heard about the injuries she’d suffered and then her overwhelming panic when Frank had said the SUV was rerouting from their path home to the hospital because he’d been rushed off by ambulance. He wept at the pain she suffered, the pain he’d caused her, and the nightmares they both faced.</p>
<p>The second weekend he’d found himself at Nadine’s. Like shared custody again, but comfortable too. Whereas the McCord home was chaotic and loud, filled always with someone doing something; Nadine’s was quiet, calm. Peaceful with soft music playing but little other noise. It was during that weekend that she’d reluctantly admitted she’d been the one to find him, had feared he was already dead by the way he was slumped over. How she’d screamed for the others, frantically telling them to call for help as she returned to try and find a pulse. They’d both cried and then she’d vanished to the kitchen, dishes clinking together until she returned to him, the largest banana split he’d seen in his life plus two spoons. She’d shared that she’d noticed he was almost scared of food now, but she hoped he’d at least take a couple bites of the dessert with her and then admitted sometimes she feared food too.</p>
<p>Once he was fully released except for weekly trips to a therapist, he didn’t experience the same itch to find a blade again, there was no shame in saying out loud that he was hurting before it began. When nightmares plagued his mind, he had been made to promise to call, no matter what. New coping mechanisms joined the old ones- now he had dinners with the parents he’d gained, calls to check in, invitations to go out, and the most important of all, standing instructions to turn up and spend the night when, not if, he needed it.</p>
<p>They’d promised to love him back to life.</p>
<p>They all told him, together when they sat him down, that his mental health would be their priority and apologized for not knowing before. With three of them, surely, he would never again be at risk of feeling adrift and abandoned. There were positives to them knowing the truth, positives like his eating being monitored and discussed, honestly and openly. He found himself learning that he wasn’t alone in battling food in his mind as hard truths came out from them as well. They swore to listen even when he couldn’t find the words.</p>
<p>He learned the difference, after that, between dependence and support. He was no longer dependent in his mind on a fictional connection, but truly supported by real ones. He’d spent his adulthood patching himself up on his own, but now he was gifted a place to land when his world fell apart. He knew not to hide away with his pain, even when sharing felt like it would kill him and quickly he discovered that they learned to recognize when he was facing the abyss and then kept him back.</p>
<p>==</p>
<p> When the rug was pulled out from under them again, he didn’t hide away, though he did rush to the corner office. This time, however, it was because he knew he wouldn’t be alone there, wouldn’t be allowed to hide away and avoid everyone. When Elizabeth was whisked away, she took him with her, promising him that no matter what, he wasn’t alone even as he realized it should be him comforting her. That reassurance, though, gave him the clear mind to focus on his work this time, unburdened by fears of abandonment and anguish that had plagued him before.</p>
<p>He was sent to the hospital, not only to be an extension of her in the crisis, but also so he could have a purpose beyond pacing aimlessly outside the SitRoom. He wasn’t surprised when Nadine called almost instantly and then called every hour after until the world righted itself once again. Once it had, he found himself in Nadine’s spare bedroom, curled in a ball as he finally processed how close he’d come to losing one of those parent figures. Even with Matt on the couch just up the hall, the tears didn’t hold back, too used now to being allowed to be free. They drew her to him, taking a spot in the dim light offered by the nightlight on the wall with her back against the headboard as he laid, using her lap as a pillow. The tears dried eventually, and he dozed off to her hands carding through his hair.</p>
<p>It was the first time in many months he’d dreamed of that night in the office bathroom; his fresh fears morphing it into a new nightmare. This time, though, when he woke with a gasp and the beginnings of a shout in his throat, he was already being comforted back to sleep. The visions of a silver blade beaded with dark red blood vanished at the sound of her voice. Banished from this new world where he wasn’t a failure or unloved or any of the things his mind used to tell him. She knew the truth but still declared he wasn’t’ a failure, wasn’t a fraud. He was only human, but he was loved and, as he was reminded again, he would always be their son.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Months seemed to pass by quickly. Sometimes when she looked at him, she could feel that first moment Frank had said they were heading to the hospital instead of home to her family. She’d been exhausted and in pain and didn’t understand why until he’d uttered that sentence- ‘<em>Mister Moran has been taken by ambulance, Ma’am.</em>’ It had haunted her nightmares almost as much as the horrors she’d endured for the days before. They’d just been pulling up to the looming white building when they told her Henry was en route and that Nadine was waiting inside.</p>
<p>She could remember, even now, the devastated look on Nadine’s face, the way the woman she knew to be so strong shook with barely controlled emotions as she tried to describe what she’d stumbled upon. The way she’d paled impossibly more as her voice caught on the word blood.</p>
<p>And then there was the memory of stepping into that hospital room, the sounds of Blake’s mournful cries, the way he’d looked so broken as knowledge of what the doctor had just shared with them swam in her mind. He was suffering and needed help.</p>
<p>As those months passed, it seemed that he was moving past it well enough. At least she felt she was doing her best to support him. He loved having him more present in her life, he’d been almost a son before but now- now he was a son for good. She kept a close eye on him, taking on the responsibility of looking after him during the day when he was in her care as much as she was usually in his anyway. I seemed like his hard word, all their hard work, had been paying off.</p>
<p>Then Jay rushed into her office unceremoniously, panting and panicked, and she knew before he could speak that it had to do with Blake. She was on her feet before Jay could gasp out Blake was hurt, bleeding, and needed help.</p>
<p>Her heart was in her throat as she followed him to the breakroom to see just what had him looking so distressed, surely nothing that could happen around the office could be that critical. The first think she noticed was the glazed, unfocused look in his eyes, the way they seemed to latch into some unpresent middle distance. His face was ashen, his lips slightly parted. His left had was out, palm up as it pooled with blood that ran down his wrist and dripped on the floor. His right hand was wrapped around his left wrist, though it hadn’t prevented his sleeve from getting stained, the strap of his watch and right fingers already getting tacky with blood. At his feet was a knife and on the counter was a bagel, she made a guess as to what happened. “Blake?” She tried, but he didn’t blink, his breaths continued in short, imperceptible gasps. “Keep the room clear.” She whispered it to Jay, who only nodded before turning away, casting her a worried glance.</p>
<p>Taking charge, she reached for the tap, twisting the water on and doing her best to avoid stepping in the blood on the floor as she pushed his hands under the stream. “Stay there, okay?” Not sure he even heard her, she still reached for something to clean up the mess. He swayed dangerously and her hands shot out to steady him in case he passed out altogether. She wouldn’t be able to keep him from hitting the ground, but she could try to keep him from getting hurt. He didn’t fade out completely, though.</p>
<p>Unbuckling his watch and placing it on a paper towel, she found another and tried to rub salt into his shirt sleeve to avoid it staining. He’d want to change out of his wet sleeves, but maybe not having the visual reminder would help his mind calm.</p>
<p>“M’sorry.” The was slurred when it slipped out and soft as well, making him hard to understand. “M’sorry.”</p>
<p>Elizabeth looked up. His eyes were still half shut, his face lax. “It was an accident, Sweetie. You’ll be okay.”</p>
<p>“I didn’t want it.” The words were forlorn, a tear slipped down his cheek.</p>
<p>“Look. It’s stopped now, you’ll be fine.” She tried to reassure him, cutting the water and drying him off. “Are you still hungry?’ He shook his head and she frowned. “You need to eat something.”</p>
<p>“I- I can’t.”</p>
<p>“Okay.” She knew she shouldn’t push him, but he wasn’t okay by a long shot. “Come on then.” Carefully, she walked him back to her office, setting him at the small desk in the corner. He’d worked from there for a time after he’d returned from medical leave and then on occasion since, when it seemed his mind was trying to get the best of him. Leaving him there, she frowned again; he was absently rubbing his other hand along his leg, a sign that his body was trying to fight the endorphins she suspected were trying to flood his system. In her office, his anxious tics were never held at bay.</p>
<p>It’d been an accident, she didn’t doubt it, but now it was threatening to pull him under, she could see in his face an urge to scream in frustration. Hovering outside her down, she bumped instantly into Nadine and shared what had transpired plus her deep concern for his state. He was hovering somewhere between complete freak-out and overwhelmed shutdown and neither option was one she wanted for him.</p>
<p>Nadine suggested they wait him out and Elizabeth listened. The other woman sounded much more calm and level-headed than she was feeling at the moment and she wasn’t about to argue. If Blake could make a decision on what he needed on his own, that was far better than them imposing a decision on him. Eventually, after a silent morning where she watched him sit in a haze at the desk and then a meeting where he seemed to tremble, unaware anyone else was around him, Elizabeth realized that the concerned looks the others were sending Blake’s way were another sign that he wasn’t coping as well as she’d hoped.</p>
<p>As lunch approached, she exchanged a desperate look with Nadine who simply nodded and then after the meeting whispered that she’d call for an appointment and then take him herself. They hadn’t escorted Blake to therapy in months, but today, her chief of staff was handling him personally.</p>
<p>It was hours later, Elizabeth had already called Henry herself to say she was headed home, before she heard from Nadine again. The other woman quietly shared about how silent Blake had been on the drive across town and the way he’d cried and clung to her after. She’d then told Elizabeth he was staying in her guest room for the night and not to worry.</p>
<p>In the motorcade headed home, Elizabeth let her mind wander back to that night. The way she hadn’t seen anything really as they’d rushed to the hospital, they way Frank had tried to get a report from the agents at the Truman about what had happened, only getting reports that Blake had been unconscious, major bleeding they’d said. One had said Nadine’d had blood on her hands as well. Later, she’d over heard talk about the state of her bathroom. How cleaners had worked hard to scrub every speck of blood from the floor. There had been new towels under the sink when she’d come back and Henry’s spare grooming kit had been conspicuously gone.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Nadine felt like she’d been watching a slowly building disaster unfolding. A bug, a virus, had taken hold in Foggy Bottom and seemingly from the ground floor upward, was making it’s way through the Truman Building, clearing whole sections of staff for days at a time. It wasn’t the sudden decrease in workforce that was the building disaster, however. Not the one she was concerned with. No, the growing disaster was watching anxiety building in her surrogate son as the wave of vacant desks moved closer each day. Some days a desk was filled in the morning only to be empty by midday and with each empty desk, she could see he was beginning to worry.</p>
<p>More than just worry, she could see he was beginning to panic to the point of irrational response.</p>
<p>She’d never known him to have an aversion to anyone being sick before, she’d even known him in the past to drop by soup of other supplies to one of the others when under the weather, so she suspected his insistence that everyone keep at a safe distance, and the way he reacted so strongly when he lashed out when others didn’t respect that, wasn’t to do with simply coming down with something.</p>
<p>When the junior staffers, the ones he shared a common room with, began vanishing, his anxious tics seemed the worsen with each empty desk. When Matt and Daisy didn’t turn up, she saw his hands begin to shake. Planning for the inevitable, those who remained were making arrangements should they be sidelined as well, everyone else seemed to be taking the small crisis in stride except for him. She’d already noticed that Blake had been eating less with each passing day, reducing meals to little more than bland toast or soup. Once Matt and Daisy didn’t turn up, he’d stopped eating entirely.</p>
<p>Concerned, Nadine had started making regular checks on him at his desk, one of the only people he allowed close enough to really assess how he was doing without him reacting negatively. The office was quiet with so many gone as she went for another check, stopping a second at the sight of him. A tremor seemed to be running through his body and she could tell he was struggling to breathe. Rushing to his side, she ignored his attempt to keep her away, not caring who might be left to see as she pressed her hands first to his head and then his cheeks, surprised that despite his flush and tremors he wasn’t running a noticeable fever. Tipping his face up, she searched his eyes and found that he looked like he was drowning in fear and she began to put it all together. Perhaps coming down sick wasn’t the problem, though the speed at which everyone else seemed to be falling ill was clearly acting as a trigger.</p>
<p>“You’ll be okay.” She whispered as she stroked his hair while she tried to work out how best to help him. It was an open secret how she mothered him, so she wasn’t bothered by who might be watching. “Come on.” She backed away, waiting for him to follow into Elizabeth’s office.</p>
<p>Standing in the middle of the room, she could feel as Blake seemed to almost lean into her, allowing her to explain what she suspected was happening without speaking up for himself, which was more concerning than the rest of his behavior. “Ma’am.” She started, trying to keep her voice soothing just in case she said something that would upset him. “You need to send Blake home.” She carried on, carefully explaining that she thought it would be better if he worked from home until the virus passed.</p>
<p>Elizabeth had noticed Blake’s devolving state, Nadine knew, so she wasn’t surprised when her boss cautiously approached her assistant to check on him herself. She carried on explaining that she suspected he was less concerned about getting sick as the physical act of being sick. She quickly looked up at him to try and judge if she’d gotten it right, hoping she wasn’t overstepping. Once she finished her explanation, he surprised them both by speaking softly, admitting that the idea of throwing up, it terrified him that it would take him back to the binge and purge cycles he never wished to revisit.</p>
<p>In the end, sending him home and been too little, too late as the final senior staffers fell. Blake had gone home in the end with Elizabeth, the virus had swept the White House a week before and Henry and Stevie had already recovered, leaving them the ones playing nursemaid as he and Elizabeth took their turn.</p>
<p>Nadine kept in contact with Henry, somehow managing to avoid being taken out herself. The reports came in several times a day and her heart broke as he told her how Blake tried with all he had to not be sick, not take up any space or attention. When it seemed the worst had passed, she made her way to Georgetown to see for herself, worry overriding everything.</p>
<p>Blake was sitting at the kitchen table, a plate of dry toast in front of him, when Henry let her in. He didn’t seem to notice her walking up, too focused on chewing carefully. He startled when she cupped his cheek and then looked up at her. This time the flush was from the lingering effects of a fever, his eyes glassy but not anxious. “You’re okay.” She whispered, aware that Elizabeth had followed Henry in behind her.</p>
<p>Slowly, he set the dry toast down, nearly missing the edge of the plate, and then leaned into her, accepting, and giving back a hug.</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Henry wasn’t aware there was a problem until Elizabeth came home one day and said something had to change. Their lives had carried on as crazy and as unpredictable as they’d always been. When Nadine had retired, he’d seen less of his second son for a while, he’d had to make a call to be sure he was spending more time with her instead of hiding away. A year after, she’d moved closer to her own son and then Henry found himself with four kids more weekends than not, and a few weeknights too. Then the campaign had happened, and Elizabeth and Blake were gone for weeks at a time and he found himself worrying about both of them in equal measure, but all seemed well.</p>
<p>The problem seemed to begin to creep in after the inauguration. Nadine was in California and he and Elizabeth were sequestered in the White House and anyone’s coming and going was monitored and recorded and Henry found that the kids generally didn’t want to deal with all of it.</p>
<p>It was Elizabeth walking into their sitting room with a frown that made him realize that the scrutiny meant Blake had also stopped coming around as well unless it was in an official capacity. He listened as she told him with tears in her eyes that something had to change.</p>
<p>An advantage, Henry had already decided, to only being the spouse of the President, was that while he still had Secret Service trailing him wherever he went, he had far less than his wife and they were much more relaxed about what they permitted him to do. When he told the agents assigned to him that he needed to find and talk to Blake, they’d exchanged a look before nodding and he wondered if they’d worked out already the younger man’s importance beyond being his wife’s personal assistant.</p>
<p>The car stopped outside Blake’s place an hour after Elizabeth had spoken to him and Henry knocked, waiting to see what would greet him. Staring at him now, Henry wondered how he had so easily missed that something was wrong. Elizabeth had pointed out that Blake had taken to eating all meals with them, a concerning development which hinted that somehow, he was feeling he needed watched. Henry had learned that in private, Blake was very open with when he was struggling, but now neither he nor Elizabeth were ever truly anywhere private. That had, however, only been half of her observation. She’d shared her suspicions, as he’d already been looking for his shoes to go out, on two other very concerning issues that Henry had a feeling he was getting confirmation on now.</p>
<p>Once the door was closed and they were truly alone for the first time in a long time, Henry swallowed. Afraid to ask but knowing he needed an answer. “If you’ve hurt yourself, I just want to help. I’m only worried about you.”</p>
<p>He watched as Blake’s eyes darted around the room, not landing anywhere. “I- I haven’t.”</p>
<p>“Not yet.” He filled in, getting a shake of his head as an answer. “Let’s sit down.”</p>
<p>“How’d you know?”</p>
<p>“Elizabeth told me something was wrong. She’s beside herself worried about you.” He waited until Blake was ready to start.</p>
<p>“It started like an itch in my brain. Everything in the new job was so overwhelming at first and I just needed a minute to take a break. I needed my mind to shut off. I- I was afraid to come back to the White House because I thought someone might question it and I tried calling Nadine, but she was with her family and I… I was alone.”</p>
<p>As he spoke, Henry watched his body language, the way he twisted his hands together and then rubbed him palms on the seat cushions. “So you started eating with Elizabeth every day. To be sure you ate properly and didn’t overdo it.” He watched him nod, his hands slowing. “And then you got rid of anything sharp? Just in case?” Blake didn’t nod, but his lips pressed together, and his hands stopped entirely. “But that didn’t help. Now you’re not sleeping.” This time Blake shook his head. “Have you been to talk to someone?”</p>
<p>“What if a reporter sees the president’s personal aide going to a shrink? What will people think?”</p>
<p>“That you’re just like the millions of other Americans who take their mental health seriously.” That made Blake’s head pop up. “I know this feels like an insurmountable thing right now, but I promise you, it’s not. We’ve gotten through worse before, right? We can handle this now.” He sighed. “Now, go pack a bag.”</p>
<p>“W- why?”</p>
<p>“You’re coming back with me for tonight. You’re going to let us look after you. Tomorrow you will go speak with your doctor and then we’ll go from there.”</p>
<p>“Okay.”</p>
<p>Henry waited for Blake to start packing before he typed a simple message out to Elizabeth and waited for her reply. It came just as Blake reappeared with a bag over his shoulder. “We’ll make sure you get in tomorrow morning, Elizabeth’s told Jay to clear everything tomorrow from her schedule.”</p>
<p>“Because if me?”</p>
<p>“For you, there’s a big difference, and to get everyone settled into the guest rooms.”</p>
<p>“Everyone?”</p>
<p>Henry nodded. “She called Nadine once I left and she’s flying in tomorrow. She’s worried about you too and wants to see you in person. Apparently she suggested taking you back to California for a while if you need it.” He closed the space and hugged Blake as hard as he had that afternoon in the hospital years ago. “You’re our son, Blake, and as long as any of us are alive, you’re not alone.”</p>
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